Good in Everything
by RachelStonebreaker
Summary: Sams reminds Pippin that there is good in everything despite a slight peevishness on the part of one young Took. Three Chapters, all written, all beta'd. The story opens with Pippin having worked a little harder than his otter-personality likes.
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** The Good in Everything

**Author:** Rachel Stonebreaker

**Email:** reach me through fanfiction net

**Rating:** G

**Characters:** Sam, Pippin, a troll named Sawg and a bird or two and some mice and a cameo by Rosie.

**Publish Date:** March 2005

**Summary:** Sam cautions Pippin to remember that there can be good in nearly everything.

**Disclaimer:** JRRT created these wonderful creatures. His estate owns all rights. I just take them out to the pub for a drink now and again. I do NOT make any money, fame or other gain from them. Don't sue. It's bad for your karma.

**Authors Notes:** This is in answer to Marigold's Challenge 14 as seen on The World Wide Web livejournal's talechallenge14 (sorry you have to build your own URL as ff has rules about inserting URLs)

Part of my story must take place in Mordor after the Quest. After the Quest in Mordor? Was there anything left after the Quest? Was there anyone there? I commented to Marigold that maybe a few orcs or a troll or something might be there … But as I haven't written anything in years, AND as I asked for this challenge, I accepted. Naturally, there is a Pub in it. Sort of.

The flowers referred to in this story are Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum and Iochroma. They are similar in colour and both have bell shaped flowers though Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum grows significantly further south than the Iochroma. I've never seen "common" names for either so I made them up for this story. Purple Bells and Purple Trumpets respectively.

**Beta:** The kind Dreamflower email for her address pointed out many helpful things most importantly (as I do love my Pub Series) that I'd gotten it wrong to have a pub open so soon after the Scouring as they'd all been closed down and probably trashed and that I hadn't a clue about writing Sam. She insists, how did she put it, that I had a clue about Sam because I "had the bones of his personality" I just needed a few pointers. Nah. She added some depth to my Sam. She's a good beta pointing out areas that are in need of more development (yeah, and just why was Pippin in Hobbiton just hanging out anyways considering the mess that was waiting at home). She also found some truly weird British spellings, such as titbit instead of tidbit (weird to Americans that is).

* * *

Chapter 1: The Good in Everything

Sam finally had a bit of time to himself. It had been weeks and weeks it seemed since he'd been able to just sit down and breathe. The late afternoon sun waned as he took the opportunity to look about at the progress on rebuilding Bag Shot Row. Quite a bit of work still to go but a decent amount done in the past week. He was pleased more than he thought possible, considering. A good number of folks had been contributing as they could when their own duties and needs didn't claim all of their attentions. It appeared that Samwise Gamgee was becoming a Shire-wide name and more than one Hobbiton hobbit felt proud to be associated with him. This was a blessing and a curse. The good of it was folks wanted to help where they could in the planting and building and the hauling and cleaning. The downside was folks didn't just help, they chattered and gossiped and talked and wasted time. "Can't be helped" mused Sam. "Tis the nature of hobbits." Still it was a nice breath of fresh air to find himself alone for a moment and able to look at all the good that had been done lately.

"Sam? Are you still about?"

Oh, no. Just when he thought he'd have a moment of peace, Pippin was no doubt in need of something. With a sigh, Sam reflected shortly on the brief quiet he'd managed to steal before reminding him that at least Pippin was one of the hard workers.

"Aye. I'm just watchin' the sun settle. She's a right pretty sight." Sam responded as an answer to the tween's obvious need for company. After a moment of staring off into the west, he noticed Pippin hadn't continued in his usual fashion of chattering like a magpie. Sam didn't turn completely but instead just looked over his shoulder. Saying nothing he gave the younger lad one of his best, "tell me about it" looks he'd developed out of the old habit of not being able to acknowledge woes in someone considered his better. Not that Pip ever really lorded himself above Sam, it was just such an old habit; Sam didn't even realize he'd done it. And Pippin tended to have amazingly easy to console woes.

Pippin looked about ready to bite the bait but again, uncharacteristically, he stayed quiet. He had turned to stare into the westering sun, imitating Sam's stance. They stood together, in the quiet Sam had hoped for earlier and now worried about. The sun dipped so low its halo grew muzzy and soft. With a deep sigh, Pippin finally broke the silence and started to talk. Sam drew a silent breath and prepared himself for the onslaught. Whatever the worry, trust Pippin to make it larger than it needed to be. Tweens! He wondered how the Gaffer ever raised six of them.

"Why is it most hobbits love to hear stories but when I tell them about some of the things that happened to us, their eyes go glassy and they look to not understand?" Pippin asked as a matter of fact. He stared into the now orange and pink sky.

"Are you worried you can't tell a story anymore? Is that's what's got your tongue tied?" Sam guffawed good naturedly as he slapped Pippin on the back. "Tain't nothin' a good pint o' beer and some cheese an' bread won't fix. Come on, let's go find us some and you can tell me any tale you want to. I'll listen. And I'll warrant I'll like it, too." He tried to guide the youngster towards the path that lead on down into town. Pippin would have nothing of it and he pulled away from Sam's gentle grasp.

"It's not that, Sam!" Pippin answered almost bitterly. "It's … it's …" his voice trailed off and he turned away from the sunset. The shadows hide his face.

Taken aback, the older hobbit's eyes widened and he decided he'd better not open his mouth again for a moment just to let the lad finish.

Looking down at the ground, Pippin continued, "It's just that when I tell about parts I think should really matter, like how Frodo saved us all, or how Strider finally decided to meet his fate and become king or how the elves are so very important because they help keep the beauty in the world, or… well, just about anything about the Good in things, my audience just loses interest." He sighed again. "I used to tell such good stories." He sighed even more heavily if that were possible.

Sam considered this admission for a moment before deciding it was time to do one of the things he did best, dispense common hobbit sense. This was about more than just telling stories but encouraging Pippin in a simple matter seemed a good place to start. "You did tell good stories. And you still can. Just remember how Old Mr. Bilbo used to tell how t' do it." And in a voice fairly imitating Bilbo Baggins, Sam recited one formula for A Good Tale, "Take a hero, add a horrible monster or a rousing event (or both), mix them together with a lot of gestures, vary your pitch, and wind it up with a bang!" Sam clapped his hands at the end for emphasis. "Folks want to hear exciting things. Good we've got. We live Good. They'll be wantin' action, … mostly. Now, I've heard your old tales about action afore and they're good. Why not tell some o' your new stories like those old excitin' tales? Just put some upstandin' hobbit such as yourself or Mr. Merry or some fascinatin' outsider like Strider or Mr. Gimli in as the hero and tell the truth about the horrors you overcame and you'll have folks' attention again. You'll see." He patted Pippin solicitously just a bit worried that Pippin was thinking such deep thoughts. It wasn't like the lad to get so involved in a worry. His worries were usually very easy to clear up. Perhaps it was just a phase of growing up, he hoped. Having a very thoughtful Pippin around was mighty strange.

"I can't talk about those hard times just yet." Pippin said looking Sam in the face. "I really want to talk about Good right now. Not Evil. Not Bad. All the exciting stories that might catch folks attention that I can think about right now, well, they don't really have Good Endings. Except maybe Frodo and you being saved by the Eagles. And maybe about Treebeard and all. But Merry tells those two rather nicely and I'm not going to step on his stories." Pippin sighed again and rubbed his shoulder.

This was definitely more than a worry about entertaining folks. "What could it be?" Sam thought. He watched as Pippin absentmindedly pressed at the shoulder which had taken such a beating in Pippin's last battle. "There are all those battle stories. Tell about some of those." Sam offered.

"What? About Merry nearly dying and still carrying on with his arm all stiff which, by the way, he won't let on still bothers him but it does?" Pippin pouted. He didn't dare mention anything about Frodo. That was far too near the bone. He sighed yet again to stress his misery.

Sam caught the involuntary flicker of Pippin's eyes towards the half finished Smial. No, he'd not make any suggestions about stories of Frodo. Frodo wasn't doing too well at the moment and they were all worried. That's why he was down at the Cotton's instead of helping out here. But that was a whole different story. Sam's concern at the moment was cheering up this sad excuse for a usually exuberant Took. This was going to be harder than Sam thought. If stories about Merry's valour reminded Pippin of bad thoughts and obviously they were going to leave out stories about Frodo then they'd need to focus on something closer to home. "What about how you stood so bravely in the front lines as a Guard of the Citadel?"

"Oi, the one about me getting squashed by a troll?" he rubbed his shoulder again. It was the one that had been dislocated when the troll fell on him. It still ached something fierce whenever he used it but he wasn't going to let on. The thought flashed though his mind that he was acting just like Merry and that irritated him even more. He noticed Sam watching him and smiled wanly. He wasn't going to be like Merry and ignore his pain.

"Still bother's you, don't it? I've got some of that ointment that'll heat it up to help loosen it." Sam offered.

"Thank you. It is getting better. I just need to take it easy and let it rest when it gets like this. I wish I hadn't been on the lee side of that troll though." His smile grew wistful as it often did when he thought about his luck at getting squashed by the troll he quite amazingly killed with a single blow. He usually managed to be quicker when escaping falling objects.

Sam noted the smile, he was on the right track. "That story certainly would do the trick. It's a good story. You've got a hero, a monster, some action. A big bang endin'." Sam clapped again, just for accent. "And you're livin' happily ever after." Sam pursed his lips and then added, "Sort of."

But Pippin wasn't quite ready to give in. Yet. Right now he did not wish to be reminded of the fact that though he'd saved a fellow soldier's life with his actions he still wound up nearly dead. While that really was almost hero action, and he admittedly didn't want to be like Merry and ignore that he had been seriously hurt, he was more in a mood to feel sorry for himself than to play along with Sam's attempts to cheer him. "Where's the Good in that story? I got squished by a troll before the hour was out. I worried everyone when they couldn't find me. Gimli had to spend all day finding and rescuing me. I couldn't even drag my sorry arse out from underneath that monster. Remember, Sam, I'm in the mood to tell about Good." Pippin flattened his lips into a hard, tight line, back to his earlier peevish attitude. He sighed through his nose.

This was most definitely going to be harder than Sam thought. The lad didn't really want to be consoled. He wanted to argue. This time it was Sam who sighed. "There's Good in everything, Master Peregrin" he added the juvenile honorific because he was feeling the need to remind Pip that he was acting mighty young right about now.

"Un-uh. There surely is not." Pippin crossed his arms over his chest in his classic battle of wits stance he usually reserved for one of his cousins. But none of them were about so he'd have to settle for Sam, though he'd not admit to himself winning an argument was his whole goal when he started the conversation. He wanted a Strong Discussion as Merry called his attempts at arguing his point and he was feeling bad-tempered.

Sam couldn't help it, he rolled his eyes to the sky above and mouthed silently, "why me?" Taking the youngling by the arm and steering him towards the road that led down to town, he began his attack, "Aye, you know very well that there is Good in nearly everything. You just have to look for it. You're not lookin'. That's all. Name me something and I'll tell you the Good you can weave into your story. If you just make sure you've got the action, people will listen and you'll get your lesson across."

They talked all the way to Old Holman's Barn. Sam, like many a hobbit, hoped The Green Dragon would reopen soon, but Sharkey's men had done more than just close it down. They'd used it as a meeting place and all but tore it all to pieces inside on account of them being Big Folk and not fitting into the built in benches along the back wall nor under the hobbit-sized tables or rightly under the lower beams. It'd been made a truly awful mess but like the rest of The Shire Rebuilding Effort it was coming along. In the meantime, hobbits, being creatures who liked their social attachments, comfort, food and drink, and not necessarily in that order, set up a way station in Old Holman's Barn. It actually belonged to Grigory Bramble of Willowbottom, him having inherited it from Prisca Sandybanks who was Old Holman's niece. But as Willowbottom is in the East Farthing and Hobbiton is in the West Farthing, Grigs hadn't really been using the property for much except leasing it out to grow oilseed and hay and so when approached by Bisco Darnswool to use the barn as a meetin' place where they could store a keg or two of new beer, he agreed. After all, it was for a good cause. And he got his ration of beer for free.

As they walked Sam came up with some titbit of decency or some obvious wonderment that was guaranteed to interest a hobbit for every single stirring tale Pippin could think up. The truth of it was Pippin knew there was Good to be talked about in any one of his stories. It was just that he was tired and bored and a smidgen perturbed, having worked hard for days on end doing mundane work with not one crumb of excitement. He'd been sent by his father to oversee the distribution of the extra food from The White Downs to the East Farthing and Hobbiton and Bywater. It was a boring but necessary job and he unknowingly resented being stuck in the middle of what was actually a fairly boring place without friends to help devise amusements. Merry was furlongs away in Buckland doing his work, Frodo was still down at the Cottons most of the time and Sam was terribly busy all of the time. Too busy to humour a young Took. In fact nearly everyone he knew well was far too busy doing "very important work". And most of the local hobbits were still too awed by his size and "wild" way of talking that they were afraid of him when he got close. His Tuckborough accent mixed with his natural exuberance peppered with the new phrases and ideas he'd picked up on his travels really frightened some of the Hobbiton folks. His own people had adjusted quite quickly to his new ways, they being Tooks and just a touch wild themselves. But he was helping Sam these past few days, in Hobbiton, where propriety and sobriety and boredom ruled. Pippin couldn't help himself, he liked being the centre of attention and he wasn't right at the moment. At least not in the way he liked. It wasn't the pat on the back, "How have you been, tell us a story" sort of attention. More like, "Oh, glory be, there goes that harebrained young Took! The one who rode off after his cousins before he was of age, what was he thinking, now look at him, and oh! How BIG he is!" sort of attention.

And then there was the matter that he was frightfully hungry as well. He'd been hungrier before, most of the first part of their journey, actually. But he hadn't expected to be hungry once he got back to the Shire. He'd been dreaming of all the lovely things he'd eat and the tasties his mum would make, and the fruits of a good harvest he'd get to enjoy. He hadn't expected rationing. It wasn't so bad at home at least but in Hobbiton, it was still the rule. He'd been hungry every day he'd been in the West Farthing, not wanting to eat more than the others, considering how low stores had been there and how they all worried about making do until the remaining supplies squirreled away by Sharkey's men could be located and redistributed. Tuckborough had held out against the thieving of Sharkey's men but they couldn't very well give away all their stores with the onslaught of winter though they'd given away all they could spare just to make sure no one truly starved. Pippin wasn't starving, literally, but he was so very hungry. And he was tired. Woefully tired. He was working right alongside Sam but for some reason he just couldn't keep up. Sam's Gaffer had suggested that maybe Pippin had just grown too fast in too short a time and he was catching up. He didn't care about the reason. He "had a burr under his saddle and was ready to kick" as his sister, Pimmie used to say about a particularly mean pony they had. So, he found himself arguing with the one person who took the time to try to humour him. He felt just a little bad about it but he stuck with his prickly attitude clear through most of their rationed half pints and meagre plate of fresh bread, pickles and cheese.

Feeling much better with some food and drink and the friendly atmosphere, Pippin finally conceded he'd lost his battle. And he didn't feel too awful about it. It was the power of food, rest and a good spot of ale. "Weeeell, I suppose, just this once, Samwise, you must be right" he said, out of the blue after he'd polished off most of the cheese.

Sam stopped chewing a crunchy pickled carrot and nearly choked. Still coughing a bit and taking a sip of his ale, he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Just like that, your givin' up? After all the arguments and complaints and whingin'? We get a little food in your belly and that's that?" Sam should have stopped while he was ahead but he was a tad stunned.

"Alright. If I must. Tell me, then, of the Good in The Troll that Squashed Peregrin Took." Pippin sat back munching on the last spiced pickled beet.

"You survived."

"Not Good enough. Too obvious."

"The troll died."

"Also too obvious. Besides, The Good needs to be IN the troll or some stirring event that happened because the troll died. So far, I haven't done anything that's all that wonderfully Good to account for the troll dying. You said, 'There's Good in almost Everything.' Where's the Good in a troll, alive or dead? Blasted monsters. Always mucking about slashing and squashing and …" the more he thought on the ill luck of a dying troll landing on top of him, the madder he became.

"I get the idea." Sam sat back and pondered. If a dead troll wasn't allowed to be Good in and of itself then the Good must be in how it serves a purpose; either dead or alive. Well, he was the first to admit that there wasn't much Good to be found in a live troll. So, it'd have to be in the dead troll. He was going to have to think on this.

Satisfied that he didn't have to concede after all, Pippin gladly finished off the food and finally stopped pestering Sam with his peevishness. Feeling down right cheerful, he added his voice to the already rousing chorus of "Blind Tom's Billy", a sillier song he'd not heard in a month of Trewsdays.

End Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Good in Everything

**Author:** Rachel Stonebreaker

Credits and disclaimers at the end

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Chapter 2: The Good in Everything

And far, far away, in the land once called Mordor where not much moved other than the wind and a few small animals … Sawg, the troll wandered about aimlessly through the rocky hills. The night was young and Sawg was hungry. Sawg was always hungry these days. Since Masters went away and took all of Sawg's kin, Sawg was lonely. But mostly Sawg was hungry. Masters might be Masters but if they could be caught unawares they were dinner.

Every now and then the troll heard a bird or the scratching of some small furry creature. But being a troll, she didn't know they were animals, quite possibly breakfast. They just sounded like endless clawings in her mind. Why? Why had everyone gone away? Where had all the Others gone? She had a niggling feeling that they were gone, gone, gone. GONE. When her brother walked down the slope of their mountain home following after those tiny little creatures they called Master she'd started to follow. But fear stopped her. They tried to entice her, oh, yes they did, with their hunks of meat on a string. Her brother, stupid troll, followed, but she stayed. NOW where was he? She'd given up safety when she got hungry and thought, just for a tiny moment that perhaps her brother had made a good choice in following those wicked Masters with the sharp sticks and the collars. Yes. Collars. Her brother had easily let them put a collar on him. He got food when he did. But Sawg balked. She instinctively knew that to put on that necklace was to no longer be free.

But what Good was free? She was hungry. No more squishy little meaty bits of Master to chomp down when no one was looking. No more pots of boiling stew to knock over and slurp up when all the Masters shouted angrily. No more baby trolls to eat up when there was nothing else to eat. She was the last of her kind. What Good did it serve to stay behind? Where were the Others?

She wandered about hour after hour, always finding shelter from the strong, strong Bright. In the years of growing up, the Bright had not been so. It had been quiet and not so Bright. It had even gotten less and less as she got older and older. But now that her brother had wandered off with the Masters and they were all Gone, the Bright got Brighter and she couldn't stay outside without her skin feeling hard and crackly at its first threatening glance.

For nights on end and then weeks on end, though Sawg knew nothing of time and its passing, she wandered about the hills and the flats looking for someone or something she knew. Everywhere she trod, the ground split and cracked beneath her huge feet, under her hulking weight. And the rains of the new age and the light of the new dawn and the seeds of the new life filtered in and took root in the cracks in the ropey lava rock broken by her footsteps.

One late evening as Sawg wandered aimlessly she finally heard the scratchings of a field mouse and decided that maybe, just maybe, it might be food. Hunger will drive anyone to do the most absurd things. And on this night, it drove Sawg to stay just a little too long, too far away from the safety of her den. As the Bright crept up over the horizon she began to feel her skin crackling. But fascinated as she was at the sounds of potential dinner, or was it breakfast, she'd lost track, she didn't realize until it was too late that she'd stayed out far, far too long in the night.

The Bright caught her looking up to the East, hunched as she was, just a little bit over a smallish bush housing quite a large family of field mice. She had been reaching out to touch the bush. It didn't take very long for the roots of a Purple Bell to start to weave its way around her now stone legs. It took even less time for a mother and father starling to find her outstretched hand and make it a platform for their new family's nest. The birds and later the beasties that followed, never made a nod in the direction of the stone basilisk that supplied them with a foundation for their homes. They just knew that Now, right Now, there was Good to be found.

End Chapter 2

* * *

**Title:** The Good in Everything

**Author:** Rachel Stonebreaker

**Email:** reach me through fanfiction net

**Rating:** G

**Characters:** Sam, Pippin, a troll named Sawg and a bird or two and some mice and a cameo by Rosie.

**Publish Date:** March 2005

**Summary:** Sam cautions Pippin to remember that there can be good in nearly everything.

**Disclaimer:** JRRT created these wonderful creatures. His estate owns all rights. I just take them out to the pub for a drink now and again. I do NOT make any money, fame or other gain from them. Don't sue. It's bad for your karma.

**Authors Notes:** This is in answer to Marigold's Challenge 14 as seen on The World Wide Web livejournal's talechallenge14 (sorry you have to build your own URL as ff has rules about inserting URLs)

Part of my story must take place in Mordor after the Quest. After the Quest in Mordor? Was there anything left after the Quest? Was there anyone there? I commented to Marigold that maybe a few orcs or a troll or something might be there … But as I haven't written anything in years, AND as I asked for this challenge, I accepted. Naturally, there is a Pub in it. Sort of.

The flowers referred to in this story are Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum and Iochroma. They are similar in colour and both have bell shaped flowers though Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum grows significantly further south than the Iochroma. I've never seen "common" names for either so I made them up for this story. Purple Bells and Purple Trumpets respectively.

**Beta:** The kind Dreamflower email for her address pointed out many helpful things most importantly (as I do love my Pub Series) that I'd gotten it wrong to have a pub open so soon after the Scouring as they'd all been closed down and probably trashed and that I hadn't a clue about writing Sam. She insists, how did she put it, that I had a clue about Sam because I "had the bones of his personality" I just needed a few pointers. Nah. She added some depth to my Sam. She's a good beta pointing out areas that are in need of more development (yeah, and just why was Pippin in Hobbiton just hanging out anyways considering the mess that was waiting at home). She also found some truly weird British spellings, such as titbit instead of tidbit (weird to Americans that is).


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Good in Everything

**Author:** Rachel Stonebreaker

Credits and Disclaimers at the end

* * *

Chapter 3: The Good in Everything

Spring had come to the Shire with more than its usual deluge of colour and greenery. The efforts of Samwise Gamgee in replanting the Shire, as some tell of the work being "almost single handed", were paying off. Master Peregrin Took stood outside Bag End staring in wonder at the tendrils of the Purple Trumpet vine as they began their journey up the trellis outside the south wall. The first little shoots were already staked to the trellis. They'd be blooming soon, according to Sam. How he ever got that vine to bloom outside a hotroom Pip would never guess. But he did know he loved its flowers. They reminded him a lot of something like it he'd seen in Gondor. The best translation he could give it into Westron was Purple Bells. They weren't quite as dense and were much more purple but they were still somewhat trumpet shaped and twinned and very pretty. They grew like weeds down in the south.

"Come join us for tea, won't you, sir?" Rosie asked poking her head around the corner, still shy about asking this giant of a Took into tea in a smial she couldn't quite believe she was going to be living in with the hobbit who'd finally gotten up the courage to ask her to marry him. Things had been moving fast this last winter and faster now that spring was here. She'd been spending a lot of time up on Bagshot Row helping restore Bag End with Sam and Mr. Frodo. Sam had insisted she get used to visiting with Mr. Frodo's kin whenever they were about seeing how they were such a big part of Mr. Frodo's and Sam's lives. It wasn't the farm, and that was the truth of it, but it was Sam's new home and it was going to be hers soon so she'd just as well face it and get on with what was expected.

"I'd be delighted, Miss Rose" Pippin answered but he didn't move. In fact, he didn't move for another half of an hour. Sam finally came out to see if there was something the matter.

"Pippin?" he'd given up any honorific now as a matter of self preservation. Frodo and Merry and Pippin had all but boxed his ears every time he added any title to their names in address. They insisted that he'd just have to get used to it because they'd have none of being his better after all he'd done. He didn't feel like he'd done any more than they so he didn't need no jumpin' up but they were insistent, especially Frodo. "Pip? You comin' in or do I need to bring a tea service out here and serve you like the fine spoiled gentle hobbit you used to be?" That got his attention, it did.

Pip looked up from the window box. "Do they always grow so quick at the start of the year? I've never paid much attention."

Sam walked over to stare at what held the young Took's attention so. Of course, these days, lots of things held Pip's attention. Some of them just downright odd. He had been a lad who never sat still and now he could sit for hours staring at things. He was growin' up fast. "Hmpf", Sam thought, "Grown up. Not growin'." And to Pippin he asked, "What? These plants here? No. They're right hard to get started. They like the warm weather. It were a surprise when they popped up a few weeks ago. The daisies surprised me too by startin' to show green so soon. And I've not nearly as many weeds as usual. Seems a lot of things are just sort of takin' care o' themselves and makin' a right good show of it early." He softly petted the dark green long leaves Pippin was admiring. Very gentle, like he didn't really want to touch them for fear he'd spoil them or something. "Frodo thinks it's what were in that box The Lady gave me. He says a lot of Good was in that box."

"I think he's right." Pip added in approval. Then with a short laugh he added, "Of course he's right. Frodo's always right, isn't he?" He turned to fix Sam with a bright smile.

"That's the way I like t'see the lad," thought Sam as he smiled back, adding out loud, "Yes, Sir, a lot of Good."

"You see, Sam, there's that Good again I was talking about ever so long ago. But do you think I could interest hobbits in a story about purple belled flowers and how fast the gardens grew this year because of The Lady Galadriel's magical gift?" Pippin looked down at the greenery, the smile still on his face.

"Oi, your not back on that again are you?" but Sam could see that this time Pippin wasn't at all maudlin. "So" he started as an enticement, "I've thought of the Good of the Troll that Squished Master Peregrin Took." His smile was smug.

"Go on. Tell." Came the taunt.

Sam took a deep breath as he always did before performing something he wasn't quite sure about, "…Because a very large, very noisome Troll dared approach Master Peregrin Took durin' the last battle before the Morannon, and our brave young hobbit stood fast and killed The Troll so it would not kill his fellow friend, a noble Captain of the Guard named Beregond, and whereupon The Troll fell dead on Master Peregrin, nearly crushin' the life from his poor battered body, and whereas Gimli the Dwarf, stalwart friend of hobbits, was able to recognize our squished Peregrin by the extra furry foot stickin' out from under The Dead Troll thereby rescuin' Peregrin and … and … makin' every one ever so proud of both of them. The End."

"You just made that up, didn't you?" Pippin shifted his eyes to look sideways at Sam with just a slight frown, hard kept as it were.

"You could tell?" Sam asked a little downcast.

"…. No. Not really. It was very good." Pippin answered in his best serious voice.

"No, it t'weren't. Your just bein' kind."

"Well. Yes. I am. And it doesn't really suit my original definition of Good. Which, unfortunately, I've completely forgotten. But I'm sure it doesn't fit." Pippin could hardly keep from laughing.

Sam just stared at him in mock disbelief. He'd gotten very good at telling when Pippin was jesting with him and he wasn't about to let the lad get the jump on him by being the first to break and laugh.

"Here. This is better." Pippin cleared his throat and began, "Because the brave, wonderful and noble, clear eyed and handsome young Peregrin Took slew the evil, noisome I like that as it certainly was a smelly old thing. I shall keep it (cough) where was I? Oh yes … the evil, noisome, hideous, grotesque …"

"I'll be needin' a nap afore long…"

"… nasty Troll, all of Middle Earth rejoiced."

"And do tell me this, young clear eyed and noble Master Peregrin Took, how is it we all of Middle Earth would rejoice? I do not believe there's enough of a story there to make ev'n a babe blink in wonder."

"Yes, but there was a lot more specifically about me in it." Pippin linked arms with Sam and steered him towards the door. "I do believe our tea is getting cold."

"Ah! Not so fast. We need more 'story' in that story." Yet Sam didn't stop their progress but instead upon reaching the door first, opened it and in a gallant display of civility bowed to the younger hobbit ushering him indoors.

Pippin snorted through his nose, continuing the idle banter, "If you insist I shall develop the story further … If The Evil and Noisome Troll had but survived the battle, it would have gone on to sire hundreds, nay, thousands more evil, grotesque and repulsive Trolls. So, you see, it was a good thing our Hero dispatched of it early in it's life."

"Ach! I hate t' think on Trolls doin' that and makin' more of 'em. Thank you but I'm in no mood for tea now."

"Good, I'll have yours then." Pippin said with a smile. Then he added just out of kindness to soften the unpleasant picture in Sam's mind, "I don't think they really do it like we do … I mean like a lad loves his lass. I mean … well, it's not as if I've any idea but … well … we're civil and pleasant what with courting and kissing and all, if you catch my drift. They probably don't have nice babies proper, perhaps they just burst of eggs or something, like birds." He was prattling again. His mother's face popped into his head just then reminding him of her attempts at explaining where babies came from. He turned red when he realized he was discussing reproduction. Everyone suspected him of innocence and for his mum's sanity he always played along. No mother wants to know just how much her youngest child knows…

Sam quietly smiled at Pippin's attempt to lighten the mood. After a second he did brighten a bit, "Remember the Trolls in Mr. Bilbo's story? The ones we found after poor Frodo'd been attacked by the Black Riders. See there's some good… you said the oddest thing later after it were all over and we were safe in Rivendell. Do you remember? You said you'd seen a bird's nest on one o' them trolls and wondered how somethin' so Good could have decided to have babies sittin' on somethin' so ugly." Sam had stopped in the hall just before entering the parlour where Pippin's tea sat waiting.

"No, I hadn't remembered until just now. I guess dead trolls are good for something." Pippin answered with a very large, very typical Pippin smile. "Do I still get your tea?".

Sam smiled and knowing Rosie had made extra just for their growing hobbit friend he replied, "Why certainly, what sorta servant would I be to let someone so august as The Master Peregrin, Survivor of the Troll Squashin', go hungry?"

The End.

* * *

**Title:** The Good in Everything

**Author:** Rachel Stonebreaker

**Email:** reach me through fanfiction net

**Rating:** G

**Characters:** Sam, Pippin, a troll named Sawg and a bird or two and some mice and a cameo by Rosie.

**Publish Date:** March 2005

**Summary:** Sam cautions Pippin to remember that there can be good in nearly everything.

**Disclaimer:** JRRT created these wonderful creatures. His estate owns all rights. I just take them out to the pub for a drink now and again. I do NOT make any money, fame or other gain from them. Don't sue. It's bad for your karma.

**Authors Notes:** This is in answer to Marigold's Challenge 14 as seen on The World Wide Web livejournal's talechallenge14 (sorry you have to build your own URL as ff has rules about inserting URLs)

Part of my story must take place in Mordor after the Quest. After the Quest in Mordor? Was there anything left after the Quest? Was there anyone there? I commented to Marigold that maybe a few orcs or a troll or something might be there … But as I haven't written anything in years, AND as I asked for this challenge, I accepted. Naturally, there is a Pub in it. Sort of.

The flowers referred to in this story are Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum and Iochroma. They are similar in colour and both have bell shaped flowers though Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum grows significantly further south than the Iochroma. I've never seen "common" names for either so I made them up for this story. Purple Bells and Purple Trumpets respectively.

**Beta:** The kind Dreamflower email me for her address pointed out many helpful things most importantly (as I do love my Pub Series) that I'd gotten it wrong to have a pub open so soon after the Scouring as they'd all been closed down and probably trashed and that I hadn't a clue about writing Sam. She insists, how did she put it, that I had a clue about Sam because I "had the bones of his personality" I just needed a few pointers. Nah. She added some depth to my Sam. She's a good beta pointing out areas that are in need of more development (yeah, and just why was Pippin in Hobbiton just hanging out anyways considering the mess that was waiting at home). She also found some truly weird British spellings, such as titbit instead of tidbit (weird to Americans that is).


End file.
